


Hermione Granger: Virgin Hunter

by HeartOfAspen, Witches_Britches



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Hermione Granger, Crack, Dobby is a free elf, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Pure Crack, We Were Drinking When We Wrote This, and a lawyer, do not copy to another site, what the actual hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-11-22 17:24:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20877926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartOfAspen/pseuds/HeartOfAspen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witches_Britches/pseuds/Witches_Britches
Summary: Everyone’s favorite swot takes off on another adventure, this time to claim first dibs on Malfoy’s wizard stick. Turns out she isn’t the only Virgin Hunter after his overripe man-cherry. Cracky ridiculousness brought to you by Witches_Britches and HeartOfAspen. Boiled carrots not included. (All creative rights owned by Dobby the Elf, Esq.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Behold, the path you are about to embark on is an amalgamation of minds, a pinnacle of creation, the clash of two unsuspecting atoms that are HeartOfAspen and Witches Britches. Beware, the homemade alcohol that was consumed during this story telling may one day come for you! So buckle your waist coats and gird up your loins for the season premier of; Hermione Granger, Virgin Hunter.

In the years following the Second Wizarding War, Hermione Granger had grown bitter by her past circumstances. Her youth had been wasted trying to catch an evil wizard. What a prat. I mean, really… she, too, wanted power - and a whole lot of sex. After all, hell hath no fury like a horny swot scorned.

Though, after banging her way through the Ministry, and casting enough memory charms to match even Harry’s excessive _ Expelliarmus _ spells (she still wanted to maintain her decorum as a proper English rose), her sexual palate grew more refined. And I don’t mean the two meanings of refined that I looked up in the dictionary. I mean refined as in: _ pure_. So one evening, after she had taken her second virgin, she chose _ not _ to cast a memory spell. No. No fucking way. That asshat would remember her forever, and not as Harry Potter’s nerd sidekick, but as his first prickle-pop.

So, this is what led Hermione Granger into her hobby of hunting.

Specifically, Virgin Hunting. 

Which brings us to _ Tonight_, the very night she had been waiting over a month for, because Tonight there happened to be An Event. She grinned broadly at the prospect of Tonight as she rode her broom to the event location. A moment later, she remembered that she sucked at flying on brooms, and landed just shy of a bushy tree that resembled her hair. Luckily she was clever, mostly believing it only because everyone at Hogwarts said so. Though, secretly, the only thing really clever about her was that she had befriended Dobby the House Elf. 

See, after Harry had freed him from the Malfoys, Dobby hadn’t really known what to do with his life. That is, until he caught sight of Hermione - and believing her to be a Tall Elf, he never left her alone again. She didn’t really mind this because she sucked ass at making friends, not to mention that Dobby was also able to get past _ anything_, so he basically hooked her up with answers to tests and whatnot. In return, she did things that elves could only dream of… What did you just imagine? Shit, you’re sick. He just wanted custom-made clothes, calm your tits. 

Speaking of tits, Hermione checked hers, since she had landed so hard on a durian bush full of brambles. Yes, durian, because the Malfoys knew this fruit held all that was evil and it kept Muggles away due to its foul smell. Did I mention The Event was taking place at Malfoy Manor? Well, it was.

Hermione stood up, brushing her clothes clean like a damn Muggle, since she was always forgetting that she was a witch. She then completely transformed her outfit into an expensive evening gown that was shiny and revealed just enough skin so that she would get looks, but not in a hussy kind of way. After all, this wasn’t her usual Friday night at the Shrieking Shack. 

She tucked her fancy clutch under her arm that also contained an extension charm, able to hold a shit-ton of things. But because the Internet was not fully flourishing yet, and wireless was a no-go for another five-plus years, odds are there were books in there. Honestly though, why wouldn’t everyone have this, and live in a completely different place and live their best hoarder’s life? Are there rules on this?

Anyway, Hermione had a purpose. Tonight, she was going to exact her revenge on the Malfoys, and do _ him_.

Yes, you read correctly. 

Do. Him. 

It’s clear who we’re talking about, right? Okay, just checking.

See Draco Malfoy was a virgin, and Hermione Granger was a self-proclaimed Virgin Hunter. (Dobby has requested us to put a disclaimer here: _ All creative rights and future book and film profits to ‘Hermione Granger, Virgin Hunter’ are owned by Dobby the Elf, Esq.) _

Look, Dobby can go where he wants, and obtain any damn titles he wants, so he did. I guess he just thought _ esquire _ was suitable for his lifestyle. Also, he was really inhibited by his fame in the Elf community, so he was actually relieved that everyone assumed he died. So, Hermione signed a binding contract never to speak of him, and he continued to help her. What? That could totally have happened. I mean, all the scenes where Harry is alone doing things, Hermione is somewhere else, getting into stuff. Just lately, it’s Virgins. 

Right, so thanks to Dobby’s help, Hermione now had the power to stick it to Draco Malfoy - or rather, the other way around - but to be fair, she was not sure what he liked, so maybe she would have to experiment. Only with consent, of course. She was a hunter and she had motives, but consent was important for all her prey. 

Hermione had tried on several occasions to tell her really close friends (who, upon reflection were barely her friends, especially in those first few years, when they were kind of dicks to her, just saying) that she was a Virgin Hunter. But they just thought she was trying to get attention, like when she did things for S.P.E.W. (Dobby has also just let me know that all rights for that club/group, though a complete fail, are also owned by Dobby the Elf, Esq. Apparently, he decided to get legal rights for it, just in case it has a comeback and makes money later on… Apparently, Hermione did not do a very good job in pushing that plan of his through, so there is some unspoken grudge there).

But Hermione Granger, _ not _ Complete Genius Of Her Age, knew at least this: if all house elves were free, it would be like releasing all of the genies from their bottles. There was no clear rule on what house elves would, or could, do. They were like, really powerful apparently. So, she knew if she just half-assed helping Dobby out, he would still help her in return. Or so she hoped.

Damn, that was a lot of reflection and inner thought. Where were we?

Oh, yes.

Hermione had finally made it up to Malfoy Manor, where a gala was in progress. See, the Malfoys had to be punished after the Dark Lord fell, obviously, but sending them to prison is so boring and gauche, so the Ministry decided to make them hold bougie galas to raise money for supporting all the Muggles still suffering from all the fucked-up shit the Death Eaters had done. (They really were dickwads, blocking all the plumbing and stealing all the batteries so that no one, and I mean _ no one_, could continue their tetris on their GameBoys. Fucking _ rude)_. 

Walking strong in her clippity-cloppity heels that she had borrowed from Dobby (most likely bought from his subscription to the hip and trendy American magazine, _ Delia’s_), Hermione knew she had to make An Impression. 

Once she was inside, and satisfied that everyone had efficiently checked her out, she got hungry, so she approached the gallery to find some food.

Turning her nose up, Hermione’s eyes scanned the buffet bar set up alongside the walls. Who had made these food decisions? Caviar and hamburgers? Pickled radishes and peach jam? Boiled carrots? It appeared that because the gala was meant to benefit Muggles and Muggleborns, someone had tried to cater accordingly… but they had seriously missed their mark. It was like watching Lucius Malfoy try to teach house elves some ballet moves for the House Elf Benefit. (Hermione had initially thought that would be an added bonus for their punishment, but it was a sight she was pretty sure she was never going to forget).

Bravely, she selected a canapé and a flute of champagne before turning to survey the room. The chandeliers were twinkling with bright fucking light, so that she nearly tripped and spilled all her food - like what the fuck, they were SO BRIGHT, who polished those things and _ why_? Slovakian crystal never went out of style, but was it necessary to blind your guests? Really? Ahem - then she spotted Draco from across the room. He was looking dapper as fuck in whatever kind of formal wizarding wear with an ascot that all the fangirls mentally devise and then drool over. 

Hermione’s eyes narrowed and alarm bells went off in her head, blaring: PREY SPOTTED.

Chugging back her entire glass of champagne, she fluffed her tits in her fancy dress just to make sure they were displayed at their best advantage. Once she was done, time was of the essence, as she knew she needed to make her approach before they deflated. 

Why was Draco the prey you ask? Well see, one month ago, when Hermione was playing Cat’s Cradle with a Cornish Pixie, she overheard that Draco Malfoy was still a virgin (as previously mentioned, but you know, now we are coming to details). She had just come off her high from having hunted down and deflowered Oliver Wood, who had apparently been too busy being obsessed with Quidditch to want to stick it in anyone. The experience had left her feeling smug, satisfied, and oddly smelling of broomstick polish for days afterward. The idea of adding Malfoy to her repertoire was appealing - not the least of which, because she had never done a Slytherin before, as they were usually all banged out before Hogwarts ended. And besides, it was Malfoy. He would probably want to do it on silken sheets (which is not really all that comfortable to be honest, and not what rich people use either… more likely to be high thread count Egyptian cotton smoother than the ass of a hairless mole rat).

Hermione was intrigued.

So she began to make her way over, but something must have spooked him because Malfoy looked up from the conversation he was having with Goyle and locked eyes with a determined Hermione Granger - and _ she _ knew that _ he _ knew... and that he felt _ fear_.

Similar to the way Hermione had heard of Draco’s Famous Virginity a second time while drinking a snakebite with a one-eyed eunuch, Draco had also heard of Hermione’s reputation...

...Which led him to do the one thing no wizard had ever done when faced with the prospect of Hermione imminently popping his man-cherry: he ran. In the middle of a fancy gala… ditching Goyle even, how rude could you get? I mean, I know Goyle’s an idiot, but idiots have feelings, too.

After blinking a couple of times, her fake eyelashes sticking slightly, Hermione scowled. “Fucking Slytherins.”

She supposed she should have known. Gryffindors would make her work for it, and they liked a bit of wrestling, but they made for a decent ride; Hufflepuffs were often won over by the promise of post-coital cuddles. (Wait, ew. Really? So sticky though, I mean... if you’re doing it right… right?). The Ravenclaws, she found, could be persuaded by the sensual whispers of the parallels between quantum mechanics and… well, literally anything, mostly likely. Magic, especially. Just whisper things, got it?

Anyway, Hermione supposed she should have expected a Slytherin to run, making it difficult on her. Because, you know, everything is determined by Hogwarts houses that kids are placed in when they are eleven and no one ever changes, _ ever_.

Well, Hermione had never been one to back down from a challenge. Deciding it was time to saddle up and wait for Draco to come out of hiding, she sought out some more canapés. She had no idea what was in them but they tasted like pineapple ambrosia, peach tarts, and strangely also a bit like smoked Gouda, which was her favorite. Now you may be asking, since canapés usually have savory toppings instead of fruit, what on earth makes them canapés? Well, I am here to tell you that it is Not. That. Serious.

She began to make her rounds, spotting several virgins she had already deflowered. Her mind was like Terminator as she quickly passed, scanning faces and computing their level of importance based on current and prior de-virginizing goals. Even Ernie Macmillan was there - and just like his restraining order mandated, he was sure to keep fifty paces away from her. Hermione had her limits, and that included when wizards attempted to make ceramic molds of her feet while she was sleeping, so they could lick them later when she wasn’t around. Seriously, how Ernie had even got around her flat’s Very Strong Wards was beyond her. 

Making her rounds was how she began to hear the whispers. Whispers of a Secret Plot to auction off Draco’s virginity - and plot twist of the century, it was his own mother running the auction!

_ Good gravy, _ thought Hermione, _ these Malfoys must be in bigger financial trouble after the war than I suspected! _

Well, AUCTION or NOT, Malfoy’s virginity belonged to Hermione. She had already decided for him. Now she just had to make _ him _see it. And in less time than she had originally thought.

Glancing around for clues, she found that Draco had still not resurfaced from when he had run. However, after two more flutes of champagne, she overheard Pansy Parkinson, who is The Slut in everyone’s story, talking loudly about how she hoped Draco wasn’t hiding in the library again.

Well, if there was one thing Hermione Granger loved more than deflowering virgins, it was an assload of books. This current trajectory was a win-win as far as she was concerned. But at the same time, she had not shaved her legs tonight for nothing.

Now, some people have a sixth sense. Some can tell when their loved ones are in danger, or maybe have an innate ability to know when the traffic light is going to change - or perhaps they just know whenever there is a chocolate danish within 50 yards. Hermione’s sixth sense was to know when she was close to a library and bookstore, like a moth to a mosquito zapper in front of a floodlight on a muggy summer night in Virginia.

So, in due course, she stumbled upon the library with little difficulty.

Looking around the room to be sure no one had followed her, she shut herself in to do some sleuthing, despite being kind of tipsy from all that champagne at this point. Though she could not see him, her Virgin Senses were tingling. Oh yes, Malfoy was close by.

She approached the nearest bookcase to scan the books, noticing that some were covered by a long drape from the ceiling to the floor. Why would they cover those up?

A moment later, she heard a Very Unusual Noise from the hallway beyond. Not wishing to be seen, she ran to hide behind the curtain, only to find a secret door just beyond, slightly ajar. Dare she go in?

Puh-lease. Didn’t we go over this? Gryffindor, and all?

.

Let’s backtrack a bit, shall we? Oh, let’s say… 48 minutes prior. Chronological order is overrated anyway. We want to see what the hell is going on in Draco’s mind, right? (This will be your only POV switch warning by the way. It’s kind of a no-no, but it’s also a crackfic… so… moving on.)

Glancing over his shoulder, Draco picked up his pace. It was imperative that he get away from Pansy Parkinson. Although she was like a 7 on the scale of Hogwarts Hotness, she was off the charts on Annoying. His less-than-clever decision to stand Very Still against a wall was no good either, as he heard her calling out at him even closer now. He was officially in a Full-On Panic.

(And Hermione thought it had been all about her - pfft).

He sprinted toward the library - the one with the secret door he’d always used to hide from his father, back when the Dark Lord Whatshisface had taken over their home. See, Lord Voldything was scary and all, but Lucius had had a tendency to try to get Draco to acclimate to circumstances by filling his bed full of snakes. Awfully hard to have a decent nap when your sheets are full of writhings and hissings. Not to mention, how were you supposed to fit in a good wank when surrounded by that nonsense?

Pulling the curtain away from the back wall of the library, Draco opened the familiar door and stepped into the darkness beyond.

After a good while of hiding, and just when he thought he might be in the clear, he paused. There was an unusual noise coming from the library, like someone had entered. At first, he worried it might be Pansy, until he recognized the popular Muggle perfume of Chanel Number 5. His face drained of all color (like it had any to spare) - he _ knew _ who was invading his private escape. He remembered it because back in Potions class, she had finally switched perfumes, having previously doused herself with the trendy Muggle musk of CK1.

It was the one and only Hermione Granger.

The curtain was pulled aside and the door of his private escape opened. Quick as a whip, the intruder stepped inside.

“Granger, is that you?” he squeaked.

She gently pushed him a little further into the hidden space before stepping in after him and shutting the door behind her. They were engulfed in darkness.

“Why were you following me, Granger?”

“You know why.”

“No, I really don’t.”

“Oh, I thought it was clear - since I’m a Virgin Hunter© and all.”

Draco took a step back. There was an audible _ clink _ caused by his chastity belt hitting the back wall in the small, dark space. Hesitantly, he tried to recover by coughing and clearing his throat, which is always a masterful way to disguise a lie. “Well, so why are you with _ me_?”

“Come on, Draco, we both know the answer to that one,” she purred. “Your mother was throwing this auction tonight…”

Draco scowled, though it was wasted since she could not see it in the dark - so he cast a _ lumos, _ so that she could. “Granger, this is _ not _ the Annoying Swot Persona that I recall from Hogwarts.”

“Oohh, it’s so hot when you say ‘persona’.”

Draco eyed her hair - which, even in the dim lighting, was giving him beaver vibes, all bunched up in a huge, fluffy bun atop her head. Carefully, he shifted away.

“Oh come on Draco, I know you don’t really care about my blood status.”

Draco turned bright red when she reached for his waist. Thankfully, she paused when they both heard a noise from the room just beyond the wall of their hiding place. This is not the library I’m talking about, mind, but a bedchamber on the opposite side of the hiding place. Because when you’re rich, you can arrange the rooms of your fancy manor in any way you please.

It was clear that Pansy was still on the hunt, though she was being kind of lazy about it, since she had ventured into this room instead of the library. They heard her calling out, “Draco?”

Hermione and Draco were quiet, curious how long it would take Pansy to give up and leave… if she would at all.

Everyone knew, as I mentioned before, that Pansy Parkinson was a typical Slytherin Slut(™) with amazing talents as a fashion artist - but only this, nothing else. Ha, I mean, when an author gives you a name like Pansy Parkinson, you’re destined for downfall. Take that, Pansy, you’re the worst, but interesting enough to add to the story so that we can move on with the plot!

Anyway, so she was all egotistical and shallow and trying to find Draco, because much like Hermione’s aspirations, Pansy also wanted to De-Virginize the great and ostentatious Draco Malfoy. But to her dismay, she was only in an empty bedchamber - a bedchamber just ripe enough for a sexual encounter. Plush bed, firewhiskey, chocolate-covered strawberries that no one was _ at all _ allergic to. Also, there was some soothing, non-lyrical music in the background.

She soon figured out why, when Blaise burst through the door with Theo, the two of them pawing urgently at each other.

Pansy gasped, not expecting them to ignore her completely as they stripped each other down to their wizarding drawers. Eventually, after she had cleared her throat - _ twice _ \- they noticed her there.

The three of them only stared at one another for a moment. 

Blaise was astounded, because he had ordered the house elves to set up this room in order for him to seduce Theo, who had _ finally _ taken his first tentative steps out of the closet. “Oh, I had this room all planned, how did you-”

Embarrassed, Theo stuttered, “Pansy! I was just- I had a stain on my shirt from the boiled carrots and-”

They both looked down at the shirt on the floor, clean as a whistle, zero boiled carrot stains whatsoever. (Also, who serves boiled carrots at a gala? Seriously, fuck off with that excuse).

“Well, it’s hard to see now that Blaise tossed it…”

Blaise was offended. “Theo, why are you trying to hide this?”

Pansy paused. “Wait, you two are a couple?”

Theo turned bright red, cause he’s white, and when you’re white and embarrassed you turn a shade of red. It happens to the best of us.

“Pansy, let me explain…” But when he lifted his arms in entreaty, he uncovered a Stoutly Boner.

Pansy shifted her hips, since that’s what women do when they are completely suspicious or annoyed, or if there is irony and stuff. “As if, Theo!”

(She had just watched the popular American movie, _ Clueless_, that was showing on Channel 4. Not to be mixed up with BBC 4. Can I just say, it’s really upsetting to find out about the lack of channels the British had. Anyway, Pansy felt that she really could fit in with the _ Clueless _ crowd).

*snicker*

“Theo. I was just looking for Draco-”

Both Blaise and Theo chimed at once, “Draco?”

“Yes… your slim, white-haired friend that all the Slytherins worship, mostly because of his family name? I mean would you hang out with him if he were just some pasty, lanky-assed blond? Has anyone really ever checked out his ass…?”

“Definitely, not,” Blaise snorted. He grinned, winking at Theo.

Theo was hesitant, trying not to smirk, since he knew Pansy was likely to judge him for this entire scenario, and that his and Blaise’s tryst would be downright witch gossip. 

He tried to push Blaise away from seducing him. “Pansy, why are you looking for Draco?”

Pansy huffed, most likely just for added dramatic effect. “Well, he was going to be my finalé. You know, with a special é. The Last Virgin. Have you ever noticed that there are so few purebloods that are virgins anymore - I mean, over the age of 16 that is.”

Theo nodded in understanding, while wracking his brain to try to think of _ any _ purebloods that had been born lately. Scary idea. The Ministry might have to intervene and write a Marriage Law or something soon, at this rate.

Blaise was no help, as he was ignoring everything Pansy was saying in favor of unbuckling both of their belts. Theo whispered, “Blaise!”

Blaise whispered back, uncaring that a whisper was still audible to Pansy. “Puh-lease, she is going to go on like this for hours, trust me. Might as well slip in a wing-doodle while she hags about her sad life.”

Theo scoffed, “What the fuck is a... nevermind, show me.”

Pansy, as Blaise predicted, did end up going on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on about Draco and pureblood virginities.

Meanwhile, in-between the walls, Draco cringed, ducking down into the fetal position to avoid Hermione Granger.

Hermione, however, was only irritated upon finding out that she was not the only Virgin Hunter. She would have to let Dobby know about this, he’d take care of it. Glancing down at Draco curled up into a ball in the small space, and scoffed, “There’s no use, Draco, we all know you’re a virgin.”

He was quiet, imagining a safe place in an alternate universe, where he was a different person. “Look, just because I am saving myself for the purest of pureblood witches to bear my future spawn, does not mean-”

Hermione stopped him, pressing her fingertips to his pink, pouty mouth. “Whoa, shut your face. Virgin Hunters© are not here for your seed. I just want to bang the virgin out of you.”

Draco paused, astonished and offended that she would not want all of these things from him. Since he did not immediately reply, she assumed he was stupid and that she had to keep explaining.

“I want to take something from you that you can’t get back, even with magic. I’m still pretty pissed off that you’re a white wizarding supremacist jerk who thinks he’s better than everyone else.”

Draco turned, his hand on his chin in deep thought, as if Hermione were not there, and began posing like a teen model from the popular Muggle magazine, _ Smash Hits_. This was not to be confused with the different model pose he had nearly gone with (but was so overdone, thanks to Blaise), from the popular teen Wizarding magazine, _ Calico Cats_. 

Also not to be confused with with his father’s stash of magazines, _ Coven Cunts_. They frightened him, so many of the cover witches; being a virgin and all, it gave him the wrong idea of what a wizard’s responsibility was during intercourse, and the idea of shagging outside under a full moon gave him chills. It was Britain, where it’s cold out, which is a lot of pressure for a wizard, and Draco did not know the right spells to improve himself in those situations. As well as, the magazine forced you to subscribe yearly to get that final tip.

Anyway, after ten minutes in this pose, he concluded that it was worth it to impress Granger, and that sex with a Muggle-Born would displease his mother, but mostly, his father. This made him grin, so that even the _ Calico Cat _ models would have been impressed.

“I will have all the sex with you then, Granger. When do we start?”

Hermione paused. “Well, to be honest, I was not expecting you to be so forthcoming.”


	2. Chapter 2

_ Previously... _

“I will have all the sex with you then, Granger. When do we start?”

Hermione paused. “Well, to be honest, I was not expecting you to be so forthcoming.”

\----------

As Hermione took her hair down to prepare for lovemaking - a questionable act in of itself, as I would think that much hair would just get in the way - Draco paused to shine his _ lumos _ on her. His gaze caught Hermione’s wrist and he demanded, “Hold up, is that a scrunchie?”

Glancing down at her wrist, Hermione had forgotten that she’d decided to wear her lucky scrunchie for tonight. Still, a more important question was now nagging at her: “Draco, how in the name of Merlin’s Flaming Ballsack do you know what a scrunchie is?"

Draco tilted his hoity-toity chin up and proudly stated, “I’ll have you know that Mother and I are very well-traveled.”

Hermione gasped, “Really? Where were you going to, Claire’s?”

“Puh-lease, Hermione, those have only been in the UK since 1995. They’ve been in America and Japan for much longer.”

Looking thoughtful as she set her fancy clutch aside and kicked off her heels, she decided, “Though, I suppose Apparation does allow all of wizardkind to travel practically anywhere at the drop of a hat… though as a Famous War Heroine, I of course get special priviledges allowed to me by the Ministry, which include travel rights.”

Draco was very pleased to impress one of THE smartest witches of her age - though she hadn’t been sorted into Ravenclaw, where less intelligent witches and wizards were placed, apparently. “No one was really paying much attention to international travels during the War. Travel rights were pretty much open to all Death Eaters at least, and all that other canon stuff I’m skimming over. So yes, Granger, I have traveled far with Mother. We ate carbs and indulged in most of the top Muggle trends, like plaid flannel and scrunchies.”

Hermione tried to ignore his rambling and move back to the point at hand. She was only acting impressed to get him hard, and she guessed that talking about himself and his Mother might just do it for a bloke like him. Even though she was very close to seducing him, there were some strange cat-like noises coming from the room beyond, where Pansy, Theo, and Blaise were in. It was making Hermione’s De-Virginization of Draco very difficult indeed...

“Pansy, what are you doing?”

The witch had slowly pushed Theo back onto the bed. The room must have been charmed for sex, because she was ready to go. (Charmed for sex, eh? What does charmed for sex mean? Does magic swing both ways? I mean, why not, right? How does one perform such charms and where are they learned? Are we sure Theo didn’t just put a milkshake in the yard? Am I asking too many questions?)

“You ever see a pair of tits before, Theodore?” Pansy purred as she fiddled with the hem of his underthings.

Blaise snorted as he shed his boxers and climbed onto the bed with the other two. “We roomed with Crabbe and Goyle for seven years, you tell me.”

From inside the dark closet, Hermione paused in removing her jewelry to peek through a crack in the wall, and began eyeing Blaise’s well-cut body. Even more so, she eyed his _ extremely _impressive-

“Hey!” Draco hissed in a whisper, waving his hand in front of Hermione’s face. “You’re supposed to be seducing _ me_.”

Hermione winked. “Yes, but _ I _ need to be seduced as well… Anyway, looks like Pansy’s about to have a good time even despite not being able to find you.”

From the room beyond, they began to hear the sounds of light moaning.

Draco took a turn glancing through the crack in the wall, only to find that all three participants on the other side of the door were now unclothed and ready to go. Pansy was on her knees on the bed, wiggling her ass at the two wizards; Draco looked away, horrified. Was that what all vaginas looked like? It gave a new meaning to the term ‘roast beef curtains’.

Hermione caught his look and scoffed, “Don’t be a pussy, Draco, I don’t need two. Now, let’s see what we’re dealing with in here…”

She reached for his belt buckle and opened it with practiced swiftness. Like magic (*guffaw*), his pants were down and she was pulling off his shirt.

“Are we doing this in _ here_?” he whispered.

The only reason that Blaise, Theo, or Pansy did not hear him was because they were creating quite a bit of noise on their own. All those sexual noises, you know? Like, um… skin-slapping and moaning and whatnot. Maybe even some dirty talk, use your imagination.

Mortified, Draco clutched at his pearls.

“Why are you even wearing those?” Hermione demanded, unclasping them and tossing them to the ground with his clothes. “Never heard a threesome before, Malfoy?”

“Shut it, Granger.”

“Hmm,” she mused aloud, glancing out the crack again. “Looks like the Chocolate Frog… wow, Pansy really seems to be enjoying that.”

Draco gawked. “What?”

“You never-?”

“You just made that up,” Draco huffed, crossing his arms. He was now clad only in his chastity belt.

“Certainly not. You’re best friends with Theo and Blaise, right?”

“Why does everyone forget about Crabbe and Goyle?” Draco demanded.

“_Those _ two Boner Depressants?” Hermione answered as if that should be obvious, then prompted, “I’m sure Theo’s told you about his favorite sexual position. Don’t guys talk about that kind of stuff? In fact I know they do, because all my friends are male. Zero girl friends. I suspect bitches be jealous.”

Draco snickered, then looked thoughtful. Tilting his weight onto his left hip, the padlock on his chastity belt clanked against the metal. With a hasty glance into the bedroom to be sure he hadn’t been heard. (He hadn’t - like compared to the ruckus going on in the other room? Paranoid, much?)

Indiscreetly, Hermione casually sized up Theo from the crack. “He seems like a Deathly Hallows kind of guy, if you ask me.”

“Now you’re just-”

“Mind you,” Hermione interrupted, now sizing up Blaise a second time and tilting her eyebrow. “Blaise looks like he’ll have made up his own.”

Draco shook his head, desperately trying to block out the moaning. Reaching for his wand, he silently chastised himself for not thinking to cast a simple _ silencio _ earlier. He whispered the spell, taking care to point his wand where he should, rather than accidentally spearing Hermione with it in the tiny closet space. There was no use in reminding her why she was there. He was really a bit chilly - why were these closets so drafty? It was summer, for Merlin’s sake.

“Why is everything about Merlin?” Draco demanded. Then, under his breath, he added, “I do appreciate a good Agrippa or Morgana from time to time.”

“What was that?” Hermione asked.

“Silencing charm,” Draco explained. “Brightest Witch of Her Age and all, huh?”

“Why do fanfiction authors like to use that moniker so much?”

“Enough of that,” Draco insisted, frowning. “For some so-called ‘Virgin Hunter’, you’re doing a kind of shit job, if I’m being honest.”

Hermione floundered. “I was just… I expected that some spells wouldn’t work!”

“And why’s that?”

“Well,” she struggled, “well… the Manor will have to have been inspected after the War, right? So the Ministry must have left an enchantment on it to dampen spell-magic or something.”

“They really know how to punish the wicked,” Draco drawled, rolling his eyes.

“The Ministry does like to come up with some whack-ass laws,” Hermione agreed sagely. There was a moment of agreeable silence, despite that she really hadn’t answered the question at all.

“What’s a Chocolate Frog anyway?” Draco queried.

Merlin, had he been thinking about that the whole time? (There’s Merlin again, popular guy, maybe it was _ he _ who invented the Chocolate Frog position). “Come and see for yourself.”

Draco could use his imagination, but was also kind of curious. One glimpse of Blaise’s ass in the line of sight from the closet however, was enough to make him glance down, cheeks turning red.

“You _ are _ a virgin.” She laughed. “Let me tell you, the Deathly Hallows will change you.”

Heat rising even more in his cheeks at an increase of moaning from the other room, Draco tried to change the subject. “Why are you in here anyway?”

“Why are _ you _in here? Did you really run away from me when you saw me before?”

“Well… partly. But I was also avoiding Pansy. She tries to corner me at every charity event.”

“She takes pride in being a wizard’s first,” Hermione explained. “I can relate.”

“You still haven’t said how you know I’m a virgin.”

Hermione glanced down at his chastity belt. “Intuition.”

“Do you think everyone knows?”

“Draco, why do you think your mother is even throwing a gala tonight?”

“She’s a social butterfly. She likes it. And… I enjoy the rustic Muggle atmosphere.”

“Right... how did you even get sorted into Slytherin?”

“Why do Houses always get dragged into things?” he bemoaned. “It’s just a _ label_.”

“_Your _ family is the one with snake motifs carved into their entrance gate!”

“They’re _ majestic_...”

Furrowing her brow, Hermione became worried that maybe she… a _ female_... would not be able to complete this _ specific _ seduction. But she was still going to try. Draco was worth a lot of weight in her reputation of seduction. She could really use this on her CV. High society attention and all.

Right.

Then, over the noises of the bedroom, they both heard it: a woman’s voice from the other _ other _ side of the closet, through the thin wall. Hermione passed in front of Draco as best she could to put her ear to the wall. Their arms brushed as she went, and they both shivered at the contact; that’s how the author lets you know there’s unresolved sexual tension and stuff.

“What room is this closet next to, other than the bedchamber and the library?” Hermione queried.

“My mother’s private drawing room.” Fancy. Draco sidled up next to her, simultaneously attempting to keep as far away as possible, and also placed his ear to the wall. Not because he was actually curious, mind - but because if Hermione was doing it, he might as well make sure she didn’t overhear anything incriminating.

He could hear a velvety, feminine voice that could only belong to his Mum, the one-and-only Narcissa Malfoy - a woman that everyone seems to personify as motherly, for some reason. Draco stopped in his mental tracks when he heard her say the words ‘my son’ and ‘auction.’ The rest of the sentence was just _ mwomp-mwomp _ noises like the parents in Charlie Brown make, because none of it was really important to the story.

“Which reminds me,” Hermione said suddenly, turning to him. “I have unfinished business with you.”

She reached for him but Draco dodged her and pressed his ear back to the wall. “Shh! They’re talking about some kind of auction…”

“Do you really not know?”

He looked up at her expectantly.

“Your parents are auctioning off your virginity to the highest bidder tonight.”

Draco shrank backward. “They’re _ what_?”

Hermione cupped her hand over his shrieking voice. “Quiet!” she hissed, and slowly let go to explain, “Your Mum is anyway. Rumor has it, your family is broke.”

More than anything, Draco felt hurt. He paused staring into the darkness of the space they were in. Feeling sorry for himself, he imagined an empty room with a wide-open window, a cool breeze scattering autumn leaves past him. It put him in the right mood to validate his pout. Poor Drakey. (Yes, I meant Drakey. Get over it.) Why on earth would his Dear Mummykins _ do _ something like that? 

After what might have been minutes, Hermione cleared her throat to remind him that she was still there, and he turned and whispered dramatically, “So this auction…? Is that why you’re here?”

“I came to help you redeem yourself before things could transpire. And because you’re another notch on my broomstick. I do so like even numbers, or multiples of five.”

“That’s kind of fucked up, Granger. You’re really no better than Pansy.”

“Pfft, of course I am better than Pansy. She’s an amateur… not to mention, not your type, eh?”

This was punctuated by the witch in question’s moan from the other room, coupled with Blaise’s panting and Theo’s grunting. Hermione did have to give Pansy credit, she was really putting those boys through their paces tonight.

“No, Granger, believe it or not, there are some sexual diseases even magic won’t get rid of.”

Hermione cleared her throat at his possible implication. 

Defensively, Draco hissed, “Not me. _ Her_!”

“Right, I know, I hardly expected you have done… anything… venereal.”

Draco huffed, “Well, you’ve been around Potter enough...”

“What does Harry have to do with venereal diseases? Plus, I did not take his virginity. It’s been spoken for.”

Draco suddenly perked up, nearly sounding offended. “By whom…?”

Hmmm…..

“Not for me to tell, I swore an Unbreakable Vow.”

“He made you swear upon death, not to tell anyone who took his virginity?” 

“Yes, I mean, it _ should _ have been me. The Chosen One, with me, perfect match really…”

Quickly he defended, “Oh please, don’t even assume that you have the power to do such things, you’re rated a Beauxbatons 3 at best!”

Hermione was offended. “How dare-! They’re basically _ Veelas_! Besides you barely peak at a… a Durmstrang 5!”

Draco scoffed loudly at her insult, not that she could hear over the wailing of two wizards and the witch. 

“Pansy, so glad we caught you here…” Blaise moaned aloud, since he was doing bad things to her. Or good things, depending on your perspective.

“Well, I was waiting for Draco, honestly... but I’m not complaining… now. Merlin… Theo, harder.” She hitched her breath, sounding surprised when he actually followed through.

Blaise hummed in pleasure. “That’s a dead end if I ever heard of one.” His last words were strained from his thrusting.

Pansy inhaled between all the thrusting that was going on. So much thrusting. All the thrusting. Surely there’s another word for it in The Compendium Of Vaguely Sexual Words. “How’s that?”

Blaise and Theo were both (sort of) quiet(ish), leaving Pansy to her thoughts until Theo blurted, “Ouch, Blaise, you’re supposed to be the cloak, not the wand...”

“You’re the one who insisted on the Deathly Hallows,” Blaise bantered.

From inside the closet, Hermione smirked. “Nailed it.”

Draco grew hot, hoping Blaise and Theo would keep their not-so-unbreakable promises. Honestly, he really only had _ some _ blackmail on them, one being that Blaise had once transfigured himself into a snake and explored Theo’s-

Turning to the other wall, he whispered to Hermione, “This room, here? Some business deal, huh? We should pay attention, could be dubious.”

Hermione hardly cared about so-called ‘dubious’ interactions. She was a hunter after all, nothing she couldn’t handle. 

Draco’s attempt to lure her away from listening in on the sexually-charged room was failing however, as Blaise strained, “Theo, a little to the righ- oh yeah…”

Theo moaned, “Yes, well if Pansy would stay still...”

Pansy, sighed, “Look you two Moaning Myrtles, I’m doing my best.”

Hermione snickered. “Her best will never be as good as my worst day…”

Draco winced. “What does that even mean?”

“Look, Malfoy, we need to stop pussy-footing around, let’s do this before this well dries up. Seriously, this seduction is taking For. Ev. Er.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read along so far and left a comment. You da real MVP.


	3. Chapter 3

_ Previously... _

“Look, Malfoy, we need to stop pussy-footing around, let’s do this before this well dries up. Seriously, this seduction is taking For. Ev. Er.”

\----------

Without further ado, Hermione reached for her wand and pointed it at Draco’s chastity belt. “_Alohomora_.”

With a _ clank_, it fell to the ground. (Seriously, they’re in a magical world, why did he even have to wear one)? Pansy gave another great wail from the other room just as it happened, so no one heard them. Convenient.

Hermione tilted her head as she surveyed Draco’s pasty white junk, because even in the dim light of her wand, it appeared to glow. “Huh.”

“What does that mean?” he demanded nervously, looking downward and wondering if there was something wrong with him.

“Nothing, I just didn’t think it was possible that any bit of living human could be paler than your face, but that was before I saw your tallywacker. It’s practically phosphorescent.”

“This is _ not _the way to put me in the mood, Granger!” he bleated.

“Maybe if you took my clothes off?”

He blinked. “I… can do that?”

“How else are we supposed to have sex? I mean, I can take them off, too, if you prefer. But I thought you might like to do the honors.”

Draco swallowed audibly, which is not a thing people really do in real life. Slowly, he reached out toward the strap of her slinky dress and moved it off her shoulder. Nearly fainting at the sight of her bare skin, he raised the back of his hand to his forehead theatrically.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, Draco, it’s just a shoulder.”

“Men can be very distracted by bare shoulders,” he snapped. “Haven’t you been following the news?”

“I mean, sure, I know the male psyche is very fragile and/or pervy when it comes to such things,” she allowed, “but you literally lived with Voldemort in your house for a year. You’re supposed to be made of sterner stuff than this. I mean, that guy was Harry’s nemesis for-literally-ever and he sucked, _ big time_.”

“Please, Granger, all that tosser really ever did was ruin perfectly good jewelry and antiques. The rest of it was delegation - nothing more.”

“Whatever. Point is, it’s a damn shoulder. And if you’re going to yabber on about it, I’ll take the dress off myself!”

With a great sweep off the other shoulder and a vigorous shimmying motion, the fancy dress pooled into a heap on the floor. Draco nearly fainted again, but before he could be swept off into a fit of histrionics, Hermione preempted him by placing his hand on her lace-covered breast.

(Side note from the author: every heroine in every story always seems to be wearing a lace brassiere - why is that? I mean, maybe it makes sense for this story since Hermione is a Virgin Hunter© and all - but in general, if I am not _ planning _ a Seduction with a capital S, I’m going to wear a comfy bra. Or no bra, but only around the house because I don’t want to accidentally turn a corner too quickly and knock out an unsuspecting bystander with my swinging tit. As you do. This has been a PSA).

So. Draco’s hand rested on Hermione’s breast and alarm bells began to go off in his head, loud enough to make the stars in Hogwarts’ magical ceiling shake.

Meanwhile, Hermione was beginning to get fed up. Draco’s hand was just _ sitting there_. Even Neville Longbottom had known what to do with a boob when presented with an opportunity like this. She was more annoyed than that time Crookshanks had exerted himself as a Dominant Male Cat and gone around spraying things, leaving them fusty and dank. I mean, gross. At least when it had been Snape on the receiving end of such things, he had already been kind of gross, so he really hadn’t noticed.

“Draco?” she hissed.

“Hnnnnggghhhh?”

“_Move_,” she ordered imperiously.

An excruciating amount of fumbling later, the two of them finally started to get busy. Mostly, this was initiated by Hermione, but eventually Draco started to get the hang of it. He tasted like overwhelming desire (whatever that is) and smelled like bergamot, citrus and cedar. Because those are things you can pick out just by smelling them in a random setting. Wouldn’t it be more interesting if he tasted/smelled like bacon? Then Hermione would be hungry for breakfast though, I guess, and it wouldn’t be sexy at all.

So, I’m sure you probably want me to describe the minute details of what he did to her breasts - somehow knowing exactly what Hermione wanted, without any coaching - but I have had a LOT of mead at this point, so you’ll have to use your imagination. Plus this is rated TEEN AND UP, does that mean nothing to you? And in any event, Draco’s never seen a pair of tits beyond Crabbe and Goyle, so like, even if Hermione’s only got one nipple, he’s hardly going to notice or mind. Not that she does only have one nipple. She has the appropriate and correct number of nipples, and they are quite nice. But it’s also dark-ish in that closet, and Draco’s just happy to finally be touching a set of boobs.

Anyway.

“Do you want top or bottom, Malfoy?” Hermione queried, all no-nonsense despite that they’d just been snogging and feeling one another up. By now, her brassiere had been discarded for good. He was really making leaps and bounds in the correct direction for a Good Shag.

“What’s better?” he asked.

What a n00b.

“Hmm.” Hermione considered him for a moment, looking thoughtful - not that either of them could really see. “You seem like a Wronski Feint kind of guy.”

Seeming insulted, he sneered, “Thinking of certain _ other Quidditch players _at the moment, are you, Granger?”

No, she wasn’t, but now she certainly was wondering if maybe _ Draco _was not a bit too focused on Quidditch players… specifically, players for the other team, if you know what I mean. “What, you mean Viktor Krum?”

“Ah, right. Forgot about that guy.”

“I mean, why shouldn’t you forget him? He’s not actually that significant in terms of your story. I dated him once when I was 15, and that was it. We were just friends after that, and all…”

Hermione was going to elaborate, but then she worried she was starting to sound like Pansy, yakking on about things that no one cares about but her. She would rather sound like Pansy, getting it on.

“I just don’t envision-” he began, paused, then corrected, “I mean, you certainly have quite the _ reputation _ for befriending Quidditch players, don’t you?”

_ For coven’s sake! _Hermione did not have time for Malfoy’s stalling, so she suggested something all the kids were trying these days. She had heard about this position while dealing at an Exploding Blackjack tournament for the Black Hat Society one night. “Maybe you’d enjoy a Swizzled Pixie?” 

“I have never been more confused.”

With a sigh, she cast him her most forlorn look and suggested the one that even virgins all know: “Missionary?”

He brightened up. “I’ve heard of that one.”

“I bet you have,” she mumbled under her breath with doubtful sarcasm.

“What?”

“Oh, shut up and kiss me.”

She dropped her wand, dimming the small space slightly. Pressing her lips to his, she had to admit he had great lips... it was unfortunate that he soon began slather her face like she was a damn acid pop. Trying to position themselves for missionary was a challenge, but she lived for that shit, and bumping into the wall made a fair bit of noise that was still miraculously not heard. I guess Pansy _ was _ good for something other than being a Slytherin Slut(™) and fashion design, after all. Or… wait…

“You ready, Granger?”

“Shut up and get on with it, Malfoy.”

“Oo-kay, here comes the Spunk Trumpet.”

“The- WHAT?”

“Nothing… oohhhhhh….”

Ding ding ding. The majestic soundtrack of Draco losing his virginity. At the exact same moment that he finally stuck it in Hermione, and she officially claimed his man-cherry, an alarm bell could faintly be heard going off somewhere nearby. It sounded suspiciously like it might be coming from Narcissa’s private drawing room, only neither of them heard it at all because they were too preoccupied. I am only telling you, the reader, because it’s a hint that it’s Important.

After a bit of harmonious moaning from the unlikely couple between the walls, and from the dog-pile next door, Hermione was satisfied enough. Even if her ‘prey’ did not usually last very long, she always anticipated this and came prepared. She had a special lube that she slathered on, to hook herself up with a quickly timed orgasm. Where do I get some of that?

As they both came down from their high, Draco mumbled, “Well done, Potter.”

Hermione froze. “Um… sorry?”

Clearly embarrassed, Draco began to clear his throat; he quickly removed his spent cock from her center. Somehow I made that sound like a medical procedure but whatever, it stays.

“Do you hear something?” he deflected awkwardly.

Hermione sighed at the worst diversion ever. But when she opened her mouth to speak, she immediately paused - because she actually _ did _ hear something. It was not coming from the room where the pretentious gangbang of Slytherins had just fucked themselves silly (“Wow, Theo, I didn’t even know you could bend like that”).

The Mysterious Noise was from the _ other _ wall. 

Suddenly Draco began to move quickly, and hissed, “Granger, get dressed.”

Confused, she _ accio_’d for her gown in the darkness. “What is that Mysterious Noise, Malfoy? Sounds like my mugwort dealer’s beeper…”

Draco shushed her, bumping her inadvertently in the tight space as they each attempted to get dressed quickly. “It’s my mother!”

“Your mother beeps?”

“I’d recognize that sound anywhere. As far back as I can remember, it’s been there: like when I tried to wank in my room, or my broom _ happened _ rubbed me the right way, or when Potter gave me all those smoldering glares…”

Hermione rolled her eyes as she slipped her heels back on. _ Yikes, he clearly wants Harry to putt him in the rough. _ Still, she told herself it was fine. After all, she had done what she needed to do (or rather, _ who _ she needed to do). She’d only have held a grudge if Harry had somehow managed to deflower Draco before she did. (Though truly, she was not really sure what Harry was into these days, as she was far too busy to care). Hermione was quite competitive, and Harry had already taken up all that attention already during those pesky Dark Lord years. It was her time now, and she had achieved what she’d come for.

The beeping seemed to be louder now. Was Draco’s Mum actually nearly upon them? That was a scary thought. Did she know of this secret hideout? I mean, Hermione herself had found it in about 0.2 seconds, so chances were good that the Lady of the Manor probably also knew of it...

Without further ado, Hermione decided she was going to bail on her conquest. _ No way _ was she about to deal with Narcissa Malfoy. That dame was likely to flay her arse on a Muggle pike that she was certain they kept in the dungeons. I mean they had a space in their Bloody Mansion called ‘the dungeons.’ Enough said.

With a quick spell, she cut a hole into the wall opposite the door she’d entered through. Not caring that her dress was not quite right, or that she might be seen by the stack of Slytherins occupying the room, she quickly exited and resealed the hole, not even sparing Draco a backward glance.

Hurriedly, she cast a Notice-Me-Not spell toward the pile of naked bodies that was Pansy, Blaise, and Theo, all lounging on the four-poster bed. The tuckered-out triad smelled of fresh spunk, and barely registered that they had company. A screech from the nearby hidden chamber echoed into the room a minute later, cementing into place how grateful Hermione was that she had managed to escape the clutches of Madame Malfoy.

After exiting the room, she stepped into the hallway and adjusted her clothes. When she looked up she noticed that the ancestral portraits on the walls were rudely gawking at her. So, as she strutted down the hall she waved her hand as she passed each portrait, casting a spell to paint lipstick on all the misers and mustaches on all the hags. I mean, her latently vindictive streak is actually canon.

Smirking to herself as she grabbed her broomstick from the valet, she discreetly etched a notch into the wood. All the while, she internally praised herself… Hermione Granger, Virgin Hunter©, had struck again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the epilogue to go! Thanks for reading our crack.


	4. Chapter 4

_ Previously... _

Smirking to herself as she grabbed her broomstick from the valet, she discreetly etched a notch into the wood. All the while, she internally praised herself… Hermione Granger, Virgin Hunter©, had struck again.

\----------

Done with Draco, Hermione made ready to leave the gala, broomstick in hand. There was, however, one minor hitch in her plan: the escape. Because, again, she’s shit at flying.

“Bollocks,” she muttered under her breath. Glancing about, she dove aside into some shrubbery. It was a nice shrubbery, right next to a second one, only slightly higher so it had a two-level effect with a little path running down the middle. Lovely.

How was she going to get out of here? After all, her day was not done. She might have deflowered Draco successfully, but she still owed Dobby a favor, and it involved wearing a large sign around Diagon Alley to advertise his new ventures in the Red Light District of Knockturn Alley. (Actually, Dobby _was _the new Red Light District. His place was cat-themed for some reason, and since Dobby was loaded, the place did well.

Just as she had decided to give the broomstick a try - at least to get past the manor’s wards so she could Disapparate like a normal witch - she paused. The party seemed to have calmed down, and she wondered why.

Scanning the gardens, her gaze flew past all the fancy decor and crowds, until she easily spotted Hagrid. He wasn’t hard to spot, really, given that JKR describes his hands as being the size of trash-can lids, which is frankly terrifying. Robbie Coltrane is great and all, but he does _ not _ do the size of that man justice. You know what they say, big hands, big-

Right.

So, Hagrid was talking to Narcissa Malfoy, of all people - a strange sight, to be sure. There could be only one reason, and it caused Hermione to grin broadly. So _ this _ is where Draco was going to meet his fate... with Hagrid, who had apparently been the highest bidder at the auction.

Her mind tempted a guess on what Hagrid would do with Draco, but her brain could only conjure up the image of an unreasonably sized Genoa salami. Shaking that thought away like a dog shaking its head to rid its ears of water, she tried not to imagine anything too disgusting. Odds were Hargid would only put Draco to good use breaking in his new wild beasts, one way or another. (Okay, wow, I didn’t realize we were going there). And though Hermione had demolished Draco’s virginity - with consent - she knew, deep down, that this was Not Right. You know, Draco being sold and all. Her stupid conscience began to scold her for just standing by and letting it happen. 

Hagrid was presenting a burlap sack full of whatever jewels and golden dragon eggs and other Rumplestilskin bullshit he’d collected as collateral; Narcissa pulled a disgusted face, while Draco reliably scowled behind her. Hermione had nearly decided to do something about the whole situation, when lo and behold, there was a sudden crack of Apparation. Hermione gasped.

It was Dobby. (Sorry, Dobby, Esq.)

_ What is he doing here? _ she wondered, leaning on her useless broomstick.

Waddling directly between Narcissa and Hagrid on his little elf feet, Dobby opened his pockets. He must have had an extension charm or something on them, because out spilled a pile of gold so high, it carried Dobby to the top like he was freak’n Scrooge McDuck. He stood proudly, higher than Hagrid, and began speaking. Hermione could not hear what was said, but Draco visibly perked up, nodding his head as he hastily climbed up the large mound of coins to shake Dobby’s small hand.

Before she knew it, Narcissa was calculating the coinage and casting a spell to carry it all into the manor. This left Hagrid pouting.

In seemingly no time at all, Draco and Dobby were gone. (Wait, really? Hermione can’t leave on her broom, but the two of them can just vanish? Elf magic really is sum bullsheet).

Filled with curiosity, Hermione didn't want to go ask Hagrid about what had happened, as he was already blubbering in despair and she didn't feel like sitting down to pity him, or getting stuck eating his shitty crusted cakes. It was not likely that Dobby had bought Draco, as he would not want that kind of clout on his reputation; he had investors to think about. Perhaps he had made a deal? Dobby was up to his britches in deals. Which reminded Hermione, that the elf also sold a line of witches britches. They were actually quite nice. Hermione had 27 pairs herself, and could continue to get them at a discounted price if she managed to bring in more clients. 

Finally, Hermione shrugged. Maybe she would never know what had happened between them. Either way, she was glad to be leaving this place. So, off she went to fetch her obnoxiously large sign to advertise Dobby’s new business.

About an hour later, she reluctantly Apparated to the front of Diagon Alley, entered through the magic wall mentioned pretty much only in the first book and never again - and to her surprise, she found Dobby waiting for her. He was leaning against the very sign she was meant to wear.

The elf gave her that knowing look, like she was late again, even though she wasn't. Hermione ignored it and took the cat-eared headband which he handed her. As she grabbed the sign, she quickly read it before lifting it over her head: “Feed Draco at Dobby’s Kitten Den, Knockturn Alley”.

Hermione furrowed her more-than-prominent eyebrows. But before she could ask questions, Dobby snapped his fingers and was gone. As she settled the straps of the sign over her shoulders, small tiny red lights began to blink all around it. She grumbled, beginning her shift with her first walk down the cobbled streets.

Later, she would have to see exactly what Dobby meant by “feeding” Draco. For now, she took this opportunity to scout the area in search of her next virgin.

_ Fin. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to everyone who's been following this pile of ridiculousness. You're amazing and we love you. Check out art (below) by Witches Britches - her vision of what Draco is conscripted into, thanks to Dobby. I mean, we couldn't leave Hagrid upset, could we?
> 
> [](https://66.media.tumblr.com/7b1f328cc6501a4db0e52701c6f3fe46/tumblr_pzp4ywneAg1y6b64eo1_1280.jpg)  


**Author's Note:**

> The witches of the britches did puke. Mostly because she went too far, drinking her delicious homemade limoncello and having to handle a child that was up far too late. She excused herself from the crackfic, and puked. There. Now she bravely put her child back to bed and continued writing. She is a Hero. Let it be known.
> 
> Chapter 2 will be on its way at some point in the next 5-8 business days. For those wondering, there are a total of 3 chapters plus an epilogue. Tune in next time kids. Now go do something about that rash.


End file.
